


The Hardest Word and All That

by oldfashionednotion



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Captain Canary, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldfashionednotion/pseuds/oldfashionednotion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always Mick's fault. If Mick hadn't said anything then they wouldn't be arguing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Word and All That

“Go to hell, Snart.”

“Oh no, after you. Rumour has it you can show me the way.”

He gestures ahead, indicating for her to lead on, a false display of gallantry.

Instead she stops and turns on him, the corridors of the Waverider reverberating with the residual sharpness of their argument. Like struck metal, tension quivering between them until it fades to stillness.

Which is infinitely worse.

In the silence, he witnesses the jolt of impact beneath her armour. His words have struck home like a pickaxe and he sees her flinch. Her surface doesn’t crack – the mask of anger is a rigid if thin veneer of protection – but the sharp tip of his drawled barb hits deep.

He’s good at observing people – at seeing what they don’t want him to - and he observes a flicker of the concealed wound in her eyes. His words echoing against her doubts.

As they’d been designed to do.

No, _she_ doesn’t flinch but he does.

Her only response is tight pursed her lips, refusing to say _something_ before she turns again and marches off in a blaze of sharp heeled steps.

And he watches her, silent and, to the observer, unmoved until he finally huffs a sigh.

“Well, _shit_ …”

*****

It’s Mick fault, of course.

_“You like her.”_

What a dumbass thing to say.

But, what’s dumber? Mick’s amused teenager approach to the romantic entanglements of others, or Snart’s sudden need to prove him _wrong_?

He’s not sure but he knows that purposely chipping away at Sara to prove his indifference towards her is… well, cold. Even for him.

And it prickles at that place in his gut which doesn’t want to see her doubt herself. Not that he likes her. That’s an idiotic notion. Fairytale shit.

_(Screw you, Mick.)_

Len tells himself that he goes to find her because she’s part of his crew now and that affords her a certain level of consideration. Because he stands by his declaration that she’s got nothing to be ashamed of by being who and what she is. Honestly, he kind of hopes she’s already brushed it off, but the scowl on her face when she clocks him walking into the armoury says otherwise.

For a moment she ignores him, roughly buffing something into the leather of one of her gauntlets like she’s imagining it’s his face. When she does talk, her casual air is a lie but he understands the pretence.

“So what did I do to piss you off then? You’ve been riding my ass all day.”

“I should be so lucky.”

Her scowl holds for a moment and then she smirks even if her concentration still fixed on the leather in her hands. Almost like everything is fine again. That she’s moved on and forgotten. She hasn’t. It’s just that flirting is easier and they both know it.

“Yeah well next time you get all hormonal do me a favour and take it out on someone else.”

And that’s it, the line drawn underneath today.

He knows it’s not that simple. That to walk away without acknowledging his understanding – without letting her know he still _gets_ her - would be a mistake.

Walking up behind a trained assassin is pretty damn crazy. But he’s never been one to shy away from risk.

She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t acknowledge his presence at her side, just carries on working.

Even when he leans in, hand on the small of her back before paradoxically warm lips brush her cheek. Slow and deliberate. Lingering, one might say.

Somewhere Mick is laughing his ass off.

She’s still. Serene for a brief moment. Only when he draws back does she turn a questioning gaze up to him.

He’s all easy shrugs and quiet confidence once more.

“What can I say? I’m not very good at apologies.”

Her mouth twitches into a smile that she seems reluctant to give. Like she shouldn’t really forgive him that easily but needs this today. Needs him maybe.

“You know what is a good apology? Buy me a drink.”

“I’ll buy you two.”

Finally she puts down the gauntlet she’s been working on.

“And they say chivalry’s dead.”

“I like to show a lady a good time.”

“Not on two drinks you won’t.”

There’s nothing of the monster she claims to be in the grin she gives him then. More like a hint of the woman she once was but reshaped by the woman she’s become.

Not that he thinks that’s a bad thing.

Maybe one day he’ll get around to telling her that.


End file.
